Harry Potter and the Third Riddle
by Tabitha of MoonAurora
Summary: A year after the defeat of Voldemort, the Wizarding World of Britain is starting to return to normal, but his impact is still keenly felt. The Ministry has ordered the search and confiscation of any artifacts that once belonged to his followers. Harry Potter, an Auror in training, is tasked with just this and finds a bit more than anyone expected. {Revision of old story}
1. Prologue: On Spinner's End

Harry Potter and the Third Riddle

Prologue

On Spinner's End

Dark mist blew silently through the crumbling alleys and streets of the forsaken Spinner's End. A door of what had once seemed the only unforgotten house hung loosely on its hinges allowing any passerby to simply enter. That is to say, any passerby who was able to catch a glimpse of the house. You see, to any Muggle (non-magic folk) whose unfortunate afternoon stroll brought him down through Spinner's End, there would appear to be nothing but a plaster wall stained by the damp air. That was not the case with the two men who now strode purposefully down the street toward that very same wall.

One man bore round spectacles that rested on the bridge of his nose like and owl on a perch. There were scratches on the silver frames that captured what little light fell from the streetlamps and swallowed it. He pulled his overcoat tighter around himself, for though the air was still, the chill of the moist night air crept through the handmade cable of his sweater. To the observant onlooker, the tip of a wand sticking out from the right sleeve of his jacket was the only indication he was any different than anyone else who lived in this forgotten part of town. The same could not be said for his companion.

Humphrey Instantent, or "The Insistent" depending on what member of the Auror's Office you asked, was like most wizards: completely out of touch with modern fashion trends. Unlike Harry, he had not grown up in a Muggle household and the lime green of his suit vest was the loudest thing Harry had heard since they'd apparated in.

"Right, Potter, I'll take point. You just wait until I…"

Harry shook his head. There was a great deal he needed to learn, he knew, but unlike most trainees he was rather famously capable of holding his own against dark wizards. A rulebreaker, though he had been at Hogwarts, with ministry dispensation to head straight to the Auror's office rather than repeating his final year of Hogwarts, Harry had become a little more attentive to what he was an was not supposed to do. He did not, however wait for Humphrey to declare it safe, before he entered the dilapidated frame of Severus Snape's former abode.

Inside, Harry was taken aback by the lack of comforts. Though almost certainly it had been looted at some time, the overturned chairs and broken tables had wear to them that betrayed many decades of use. A stab of sympathy pinched in his chest. He'd learned much of his former potions master over the years, much that he had not expected. It had taken seven years for him to learn the truth of why Snape hated him so, but now, seeing how he had lived, Harry was even more saddened by the cruelty with which the world had treat the man he'd come to respect.

The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had ordered the homes of former Death Eaters to be searched. Though Snape's name had been cleared of such charges at Harry's testimony, it remained true that he was not always a law-abiding man, and that on many occasions he had hosted Voldemort's followers in his home. Thereby, it was still deemed necessary to search his home for any artifacts of a dark nature to be confiscated and destroyed. As trainees, Harry, Ron, and a few other young wizards had been assigned to this taskforce as the missions were deemed "without significant risk."

Dust puffed up from the grimy carpet. It had no discernable color to it other than that it was currently gray-brown. As Harry looked around, he realized that they were entirely unlikely to find anything in the house. Though Harry had hated Snape to his core in school, the man had been anything but stupid. His sixth year had shown him that. Anything that Snape had once had was likely to either be hidden or gone already. Nevertheless, Harry uttered the spell necessary under his breath. As he had expected he found nothing in the room other than a few Doxy eggs lying beneath a window sill.

At first he thought he had only imagined the noise he was now hearing. There had come to his senses a soft thump in a room upstairs. He transferred his gaze to Humphrey who seem oblivious to anything but the task at hand. The noise came again though, and this time Harry transferred his gaze to a bookshelf. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Humphrey do the same. He stepped toward the bookshelf, and slid his hands into a crack around the side of the wall. Several books fell solidly off the shelves as it swung miraculously freely open. A door was on the other side revealing a thin set of stairs whose integrity did not look promising. Without hesitation, he ascended the spongy staircase. Humphrey, he took notice, did not, however, follow.

Harry pressed a hand against the rotting wood door and it creaked unsteadily open before dropping off the hinges and collapsing onto the mildewed wall. He walked forward, every step he made cautious, and pointed his wand around the corner as he came to the end of the hall. "Protego" waited on his lips. The door on this room had already fallen from its hinges, and lay, half broken, propped against the wall just opposite it. Harry stepped through the slight opening and turned into the room.

His hand nearly dropped from his hand at the completely impossible and unnerving sight before him. A very young child stared up at him, dark and intelligent eyes round with curiosity from where he sat in a pile of blankets on the floor. In contrast to the rest of the house, this room had been kept meticulously clean, as had the child, despite his poorly accommodations. This did not register to Harry, however, for despite the gentle gurgles of a toddler, he saw only a chilling familiarity in the shape of the face and the darkness of those eyes. It was not possible. Harry's mind reeled trying to make some sort of semblance of reason to explain what he saw. Short of a hallucination, he could think of nothing. He stepped forward and as he crossed the threshold into the room something hurdled into him knocking him to the floor. With a resounding thud his head hit heavily against the side of the rotting door.

Harry could hear hurried footsteps from downstairs as Humphrey presumably had heard the crash and came to investigate. His wand lay several feet to his right and he could not reach it. Small hands were grasping at his neck and he realized through the spots dancing across his vision that he currently was staring at a very irate house-elf. He reached up and grasped the front of the house-elf's shirt, prying her away from him as he had done Dobby from lamps many times.

"Potter, are you alright?" Humphrey demanded.

Humphrey, however, made no further move to help Harry, for he too had seen the child.

"Fine," Harry grumbled, setting the house-elf on the floor.

"Humphrey keep an eye on her; I'll see if the kids alright."

"Potter, I'm superior t…"

Harry shot Humphrey such a look of anger that the highly ranked Auror did exactly as he had been told. Harry crossed to the boy. He must have been about the same age as Teddy, just over a year. Harry suppressed a shudder as the young boy's eyes crossed his own again, yet in their inky depths, he thought he saw something more, a glimmer of questioning that belayed the striking resemblance. For all the coldness in that young boy's calculating gaze, there was something there that was deep underneath the challenge.

Harry reached out to pick him up and the house-elf launched herself forward. Humphrey stunned her on the spot but not before her voice squeaked, "Leave Tom alone!"

The chill that Harry had suppressed earlier now ripped through him. This boy had been named for his father.


	2. Chapter 1: Obsidian

Harry Potter and the Third Riddle

Chapter 1: Obsidian

"It's not as if we have a choice. The chain of custody can't be…"

Humphrey's right hand sliced the air with a single deft, emphatic stroke.

"Chain of custody? Chain of custody?! It's a child not a piece of bloody evidence."

Harry rubbed circles on his temples. For hours, they'd been at it. Round and round from the moment he and Humphrey had apparated back to the office with Tom cradled in the arms of Koley, the sickly house-elf that had tried to strangle him. His green eyes drifted to the corner of the head Auror's Office where she now sat, feeding the little boy a bottle. She looked even paler that she had when they'd first returned to the ministry, and Harry wondered if she hadn't been somehow bound to the home where they'd found her. Koley's grip around his neck had been anything but weak.

"A child we found in the home of a known Death Eater during a search for dark or cursed objects. However, this child came to be there, I think it's safe to assume its origins are less than proper."

"Are you somehow implying that because this child might be a basta-"

"By Merlin, Appleweltch, how long have you known me?"

"Honestly, Humphrey, I thought I'd known you long enough to know most of your opinions, but I for the last few hours I've had to listen to you refer to a child as a 'piece of evidence' so I'm not really sure where to draw the line."

A canyon cut through Karl Appleweltch's brow, dark and persistent. His seniority in the department had carved that deep furrow, but Harry had never seen it quite so ominous. Appleweltch had worked alongside such legendary aurors as Alastor Moody. An ache of guilt crept into Harry's chest. Of course, it had been Mad-eye's choice to take part in his extraction from number four, Privet Drive, but like so many others who'd laid down their lives for him, Harry could never think of a way to repay what they'd given him. Unlike "Mad-eye" Moody, however, he was the kind of man to weave a tapestry of evidence before moving on his target with pinpoint accuracy. Thusly, his success and fame extended only so far as the walls of the Auror's Office

Instantent threw his arms up, "There is protocol to be followed, Karl. We can't just throw out the rules because you find them offensive to your sensibilities."

Harry leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. The little boy in the corner let out a soft a quiet gurgle, drawing his attention yet again away from his colleague's circular argument. "Tom" as Koley had called him, reached out to one of the house elf's ears and touched the tip of it with one his tiny fingers. Wheels turning endlessly over in his head, Harry let out a sigh.

"I was merely implying that I doubt his parents were particularly reputable people, given where we found him."

"Be that as it may…"

"Tom Riddle," Harry interrupted, "Tom Riddle was his father."

Evandarus Smith cleared his throat. Harry stood now, arms crossed, his short utterance sewing shut the arguing lips of Karl and Humphrey. Were they silenced by the name or simply that he'd ended his vigil? Regardless, their eyes fell to him. And then, just like a rogue wave over the bow of a ship, realization crashed into the room's occupants.

"Now Potter," Humphrey's usual pomposity until now so present in his voice, had faded, replaced by a taut quaver, "I know you've spent your whole life looking for You-Know-Who around every corner, so I'll forgive you in making such a wild leap but… Well, you can't be serious Potter."

"You think I like the idea of Voldemort's child sitting right on the other side of the room?" Harry stepped toward his superior, green eyes deadly serious, "I wouldn't have suggest it if I didn't already know it was true."

Humphrey shook his head, "You're out of your mind Potter."

"No," Head Auror Smith, predominantly silent until this moment, raised his voice, "Actually, I think of all of us, Mr. Potter is the only one thinking clearly. Afterall, outside of Albus Dumbledore, what other person can you think of who has as much knowledge about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as he does. You're right Instantent, he has spent his whole life chasing You-Know-Who, but I think that more than qualifies him to make this call. You really think this child is His?"

The infant in the corner of the room banged one of his shoes on the floor. Koley tried to wrestle it away from him, but the boy held it away from her and she eventually gave up. He was only a baby wrapped in loose blankets and wearing a muggle onesie they'd found in storage, but as their attention turned to him, he lowered the shoe and met their anxious glances with obsidian intensity. Harry suppressed a shudder and drew a deep breath.

"Yes, I do," He uttered, his eyes never leaving the boy, "More than anything, Voldemort feared death. He did everything he could to cheat it and it resulted in disfigurement and the loss of what little humanity he did have. He believed he, as Slytherin's Heir, had a right to supremacy. That's why he created the horcruxes. But when Dumbledore and I made our way to that cave where he'd hid the locket, I think he must have realized even with six horcruxes," _or seven,_ Harry thought ruefully, "he might not be safe. If for even a moment he thought it was possible that he would fail, that I or someone else might manage to kill him? Creating a child with the power and lineage to carry on his legacy after his death wouldn't have been out of the question."

The four occupants of the room fell silent again. Karl's jaw worked, the muscles tensing and untensing rhythmically. Humphrey had come to a chalky acceptance, hands trembling as he lowered himself to lean against the Smith's oversize desk. Head Auror Smith wrung his hands together, eyes unfocused and Harry wonder if, like himself, Smith wished he hadn't gotten out of bed that morning. Uncharacteristically, Harry stood completely still, contemplating the gentleness with which the child interacted with Koley, the way even though the baby's eyes were dark and clear as a moonless night, a softness warmed their depths.

There was a thump as Smith settled back at his desk and took up his quill.

"Chain of custody is clear: I'll start searching for a suitable match in the department."

If the head auror said anything more, Harry didn't hear it. Koley, the house elf, let out a screech and came at them. Unlike when she attacked Harry in Snape's house, she used not just her hands but her magic, and things about the room assaulted its occupants with great fervor. She continued to screech, a high-pitched, intermittent shriek to rival even the most vocally gifted banshee.

" _Stupefy!"_

Karl broke free of a cloud of memos set on slicing his skin to ribbons and with a flash of bright red, Koley fell to the ground and the rest of the office into disarray. In the absence of the shrieking, the office was deathly quiet and the four Aurors stood, blinking at one another, struggling to absorb the momentary chaos that had overcome them.

The baby began to cry.

Left alone in the corner, his protector and caretaker now lying stunned on the dark wood floor, Tom felt the cold. Time slowed, nearly stopped. Harry was frozen, torn as he stared at Tom. Karl had a daughter about the child's age, surely he would do something, but Appleweltch stayed firmly cemented to his spot, wand still on its way to his side. Surely, Smith would… But Smith's mouth was open, his eyes dinnerplates, two great aurors brought to a standstill by the cries of a child.

Without thinking, Harry crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt before the baby. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and reached out, lifting the little boy into his arms. When he opened them again, his emerald gaze collided with the dark depth of the baby's and Harry suppressed a wave of revulsion. He's just a child, Harry told himself. The white "I must not tell lies" flashed in the dim ministry light as he reached forward to wipe the tears from the boy's face.

"I'll take him."

The lift was mercifully empty when Harry stepped into it at the end of the day. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a day this long, but it was probably back during his school years. Maybe fifth year when Voldemort kept creeping into his dreams and Umbridge was tormenting his waking hours. The argument that had followed his offer had been greater than the one that preceded it. And the fact that Appleweltch's stunning spelled had somehow killed the house-elf made matters no easier. Not a single person supported his decision. At least not at first. A part of him wondered if the argument might have lasted longer if one of them had actually _wanted_ the responsibility of looking after Tom, or whether it simply went on because they couldn't understand why he, a barely of age, trainee auror, who'd spent the better part of his teenage years actively working to ensure the death of said child's father, could possibly have any desire to take on the responsibility. How could be possibly be in his right mind? Karl had voiced what the other two men were thinking.

Harry wasn't sure he was, but the lift was quiet and Tom seemed to have taken a near instant liking to him once he stopped crying for the house-elf who had thus far raised him. Now asleep, cradled against Harry's shoulder, tiny body curled into the crook of his arm over Harry's overcoat, he looked positively peaceful. He could almost be fooled into thinking that there was nothing remarkable about this child. And really, was there?

" _Level 3- Department of" –_

"Bloody Hell," The cool voice of the lift announcer interrupted Harry's thoughts and he noticed he'd punched the wrong button on the lift.

He glanced at his watch and leaned forward to punch the correct button. The damage however had been done and the once empty lift filled with wizards and witches leaving the ministry at the end of their shift, including, none other than one Arthur Weasley, whistling cheerfully as he got onto the lift. It wasn't as though Harry didn't want to see him. In so many ways, Mr. Weasley had been a father to him while he was at Hogwarts. He certainly didn't want to hide anything from him. However, the situation was far more complicated than the time a lift ride afforded, especially filled as it was with people.

Luckily for Harry, there was not a great deal of room to move, with the lift as crowded as it was, so as Arthur boarded, they exchanged a friendly smile and wave, but the elder Weasley could make out little else. Harry gripped the wand sticking out of his back pocket in his right hand, clutching at the nobbled holly handle. _You'll blow your buttocks off_. He remembered Mad-eye warning Tonks once, and nearly laughed.

" _Level 2- Department of Magical Law Enforment"_

The quite chime sounded as the doors opened and one of Harry's fellow trainees got on with a bright smile and a resounding.

"Hiya, Harry. Haven't seen you all day!"

Martina Hecklestreak was a kind and exuberant young witch 3 years Harry's senior. She was in Hufflepuff house and the only time he could really remember having seen her in his entire 6 years there was at Cedric Diggory's funeral. They'd been the same year. On any normal day, Harry would have been quite happy to catch up with her, perhaps even stop at a café for some tea before heading back to his flat. Today, however, her gregarious greeting spelled the end of his luck.

There were numerous Muggle sitcoms that attempted to illustrate the general frustration of babies crying in confined and crowded spaces. Vernon had enjoyed watching simple people do simple things. Perhaps it made him feel not quite so alone, in his mid-level drill manufacturing position. Whatever his uncle's reason for watching them, Harry had had the inescapable opportunity to absorb such borderline comedic sketches. They came nowhere close to the truth. His ears were ringing as Tom's cries tore through the lift car and bounced off the walls. He was fairly certain the whole of the Ministry could hear this particular child. After the third round of shushing and dirty or questioning looks, Harry began to think that perhaps he was out of his depth.

He knew a bit about babies now. On weekends, he would often look after Teddy so his grandparents could have some time to themselves. He even found that he was something of a natural when it came to parenting, something which surprised everyone involved, but no one more than himself. Without parents of his own, he had been quite certain he'd be rubbish at it, but so far, Teddy loved visiting his "Uncle Harry" as Andromeda and Ted referred to him, and Harry enjoyed having him around.

Tom, on the other hand, did not respond to the same gentle, calming voice Teddy did, and by the time they reached the Atrium level, the other people on the lift jostled and bumped each other in earnest in their effort to get out and away from the noise. Harry was left with a wide-eyed and extremely remorseful-faced Marina and an equally wide-eyed and bewildered Mr. Weasley waiting for him to exit. As soon as the throng of people departed the confined space, Tom quieted down, his red face and balled fists relaxing in favor of grasping at Harry's shirt collar. For a moment Harry considered how comfortable the lift was and wondered if perhaps he could become part of it. Then he stepped out and the doors shut with a resounding clang.

Harry tilted his head toward the fireplaces, hoping Mr. Weasley would follow him.

Martina gave and uncomfortable wave of her hand and said: "I'll see you tomorrow Harry. Really sorry."

He nodded, "Sure, Martina. It's fine. Really."

She looked unconvinced. Even he was unconvinced by his tone.

Harry and Arthur stepped into the fireplaces and emerged in side by side stalls of the bathroom at Whitehall, then departed together into the thick drizzle of the London evening street. With Tom resting so comfortably again on his overcoat, Harry didn't dare risk rousing him to extricate it. Instead he conjured an umbrella and resigned himself to a slight shiver in the unseasonable cold.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley fell into step next to him, "I didn't think you were allowed to bring Teddy with you to work. What with being and Auror and all."

Harry paused as they reached the corner of the road. When he was convinced that no witches or wizards were within earshot of them, he turned back to his best friend's father and answer in the most serious yet relaxed tone he could muster:

"This isn't Teddy. We shouldn't talk out here. Meet me at my flat?" Harry suggested.

A year spent in the Auror's office had trained him out of his tendency to trust and confess everything without regard for who might be listening. Gone were the days where he would discuss something incredibly important over a butterbeer at the nearest pub, though there were times he dearly wished he could.

Despite his confused and quite frankly a bit alarmed expression, Arthur nodded, "Right you are Harry."

They both turned on the spot and vanished.

Harry wasn't really the sort to spend an excessive amount of time cleaning. The best that could be said for his flat was that the rubbish was all in the bin and taken out regularly. The rest, however, was decidedly less carefully maintained. He brushed several mismatched socks off the couch cushions and kicked a pile of out of date _Quidditch Weeklys_ under the sofa. As a final touch, he waved his wand and the dirty dishes quickly and somewhat haphazardly relocated to a teetering stack next to the sink. With a quiet crack, Mr. Weasley appeared outside the door, just in time for Harry to unlock it.

"It's open," he called over his shoulder as he hurried into the bedroom and laid Tom down in the crib he'd set up for Teddy.

"What in the name of Merlin do you mean that isn't Teddy?"

Arthur stood in the doorway to his bedroom, apparently too distracted by the unknown toddler to care about the incredible clutter and general lack of any order that covered Harry's floor.

"You might want to sit down Mr. Weasley."

He shook his head and stepped up next to Harry to gaze down at the little boy. Harry thought he might have seen a small smile creep for a moment onto the older man's features before her answered.

"I'll be fine, my boy," Mr. Weasley responded, "and call me Arthur."

"We've been raiding the homes of Death Eaters for the last year, on order from the Minister. It's gone off more or less without incident. Well, we finally got to Snape's this morning. We found nothing of any real significance. No dark artefacts, no spells or booby traps. Humphrey and I," Harry watched Mr. Weasley grimace and nearly laughed, "were just about to leave when I heard this sound. I went upstairs and that's where I found Tom. In the care of an older house-elf."

Mr. Weasley nodded along, "Why would Snape have been hiding a child in his home? Unless…But I thought he only ever loved your mother."

Harry shook his head, "He only ever did. Snape wasn't hiding his own child, he was concealing someone else's."

As if to punctuate Harry's point, Tom chose this moment to reawaken. The members of the Order had become, at least to some extent, familiar with Voldemort's past during the years they opposed him. The picture Slughorn had in his office of the "Slug Club" from fifty years prior had served to educate the members should their enemy somehow appear to them not as a noseless monster, but as a truly human looking wizard. And his most striking feature was his eyes, the same eyes that Tom now opened to blink innocently up at the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department.

Arthur gave a small yelp of shock and took several steps backward until he was seated at the end of Harry's bed.

"You can't expect me to believe-,"

"You saw it with your own eyes Mr. We- Arthur."

Tom sat up grabbed his shoe from his foot again.

"Arthur, this is Tom. Tom Riddle"

Harry absently reached down and took both of the baby's shoes off laying them on the floor outside the crib despite Tom's gurgles of protest. Mr. Weasley remained silent for a long while, expression vacant. Harry thought he might have seen a few more grey hairs pop forth from his scalp and join the already fading Weasley red.

"You'd think he would have said… let us know somehow."

Harry shook his head, "After he killed Dumbledore there wasn't a single person in the order who would have stopped to listen to Snape. If he had, he would have risked exposure. And he spent his last moments trying to remember the things he loved most. We can't fault him for that."

Arthur rose from the bed and, giving the crib a wide berth, moved toward the bedroom door.

"Do you have any tea Harry? I could use a cuppa."

Harry nodded and followed him out of the room all but closing the door. Tom sat in the crib, head cocked to one side, staring at him with those dark eyes. Goosepimples erupted over Harry's skin with a chill he hadn't felt since he'd last encountered a dementor. He's just a child. He's just a child. Harry repeated over and over. Mr. Weasley was right. A cup of tea would go a long way.

The teakettle whistled loudly. Harry didn't use much magic at home and being that his little three room flat sat squarely in the heart of Muggle London, he simply used electricity for cooking his food. A combination of that and an inability to work or even known cooking spells meant Harry was relegated to the methods of cooking he'd learned while living at the Dursley's for just shy of sixteen years.

"How do you take it M- Arthur?"

Harry thought he should have paid more attention during the summers and Christmases he spent at the Burrow.

"Normally white, but I think black will do just fine today."

Harry returned from the kitchen with the tea to find Arthur leafing through a book on counter-curses he'd been reading the night before.

"That is some pretty advanced stuff, Harry."

Harry shrugged and sat in the broken-down plaid armchair he'd picked up from a secondhand shop. He had the money to purchase nice things, but he preferred objects with memories. The chair reminded him of the red ones, tatty and worn, whose stuffing leaked slowly from old wounds at the seams that adorned the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione got that when we…" Harry trailed off for their year hunting horcruxes remained a sore spot for both Weasley parents even if the eventual outcome was Ron home safely and Voldemort vanquished, "Well I've had it for a while, but they give us practicals in training, duels and such, and I thought I out to give it another look."

His opposition to their year away aside, Mr. Weasley's eyebrows shot up over the rim of his teacup as he sipped the hot liquid. Harry took a drink of his own and for a moment, they listened to the traffic rushing by in the street below.

"Harr-"

"It's just temporary."

Arthur fixed him with a stern gaze Harry'd come to expect from Mrs. Weasley, but not from the his best friend's father.

"Temporary or not, what about Ginny? This is her last year at Hogwarts. In a little less than a month she'll be home and back to spending all her spare time with you."

They'd been for real dating for a little more than a year and thought Harry knew he was already family to the Weasley's, the touch of irritation in Mr. Weasley's tone served to remind him that he always stood on very shaky ground when it came to dating their daughter. Not in the least because it had not occurred to Harry that his decision about Tom would effect Ginny in a very real and very painful way. More so than it would anyone else. Harry bit his tongue, his stomach full of lead.

Arthur set his half-finished cup of tea down on the coffee table and rose from his seat, "You just think on that Harry."

Harry nodded, "I will, Arthur."

The room was quite a bit chillier as Mr. Weasley made his way to the door. He put on a long overcoat and tatty bowler cap and, with his foot halfway out the door, he called back.

"See you tomorrow, Harry."

"Safe trip home."

The door snapped shut with a resounding click and Harry sat back down in his chair, the metallic taste of guilt lying thick on his tongue.

a/n- Ok, so I intended to get through this sort of prologue stuff rather quickly however my brain seems to have other ideas. So, while I did intend for Harry to be a large part of this story, I didn't intend for him to be quite this big a part. However, I have always had a connection and understanding for Harry that I do few other characters, so we shall see where this story leads us. For some date reference, we're in mid-1999. It's late May/early June.

I am working very hard on this story to the the point where I'm going to great lengths to try and replicate our beloved JK's style of writing so please, be kind, think about the work I'm putting into this, and leave me a little review. Constructive criticism feeds us writers.

Thank you in advance,

MRK


	3. Chapter 2: The Borders

Harry Potter and the Third Riddle

Chapter 2

The Borders

The Three Broomsticks was never quiet. This particular Saturday night was no exception. It utterly buzzed with trills of laughter, the thunder of feet, and the thrumming of conversation humidifying the air. Harry managed a tight smile at Madame Rosmerta as she passed by with a tray of firewhiskey for a rather rowdy table of seventh years in the far corner, but his heart wasn't in it. She was one of those women for whom everyone got out of the way, lucky in her line of work, Harry supposed as he watched the sea of students and village dwellers part around her. Tom squirmed on his hip and Harry shifted his position so the young boy settled better. Bitter resentment exploded in his chest. Annoyingly, Tom still made a mad grab for Harry's glasses.

"You'll be wanting on of the private rooms then I expect Potter?"

Rosmerta had returned to the counter while Harry did gentle battle with Tom's tiny and very insistent fingers. The barkeep reached out and poked him in the nose.

"Hello Teddy dear. Don't we look positively normal? No blindingly pink hair today! Trying to look more like Uncle Harry?"

Harry suppressed the shudder that ran down his spine. It was not the first time someone mentioned that even his appearance had been similar to Voldemort's and so he supposed was it similar to this child's. He didn't correct her. The fewer people knew the truth, the better.

"Yes, if you have a private room open that would be lovely, Rosemerta."

She chuckled, "Please Potter, I've told you before you can call me Rosie."

She winked at him and Harry heat flooded his cheeks. Her flirtation was not the least bit helpful in his current state, things being as they were. She meant nothing by it, he knew, but even a year later, the attention he got for being 'The Great Harry Potter' was still overwhelming. She lead him back a short hallway and opened up the door to the left.

"Here you are. I'll send Weasley and Granger back when they get here, shall I?"

Harry nodded, eyes vacant and then settled Tom onto the seat next to him.

"He has no one Gin."

"No!" Ginny's voice ripped from her throat, "No, no, no, no, no."

Harry reach out to comfort her, but she slapped his hand away and jumped up from the couch on which they sat. The ginger witch pace furiously and the wand in her hand emitted a steady stream of sparks and smoke. He didn't know when she grabbed it, but her talent for hexes was suddenly a very important memory.

"He's just a child, Gin,"

"Just a child. _Just_ a CHILD?!" Ginny's voice had reached a pitch only fit for dogs to hear.

"I-"

She spun on her heal to face him, arms clutched tightly around her chest. It was often easy to forget, as much as people spoke about the connection he had with Voldemort, that _she_ had also once been possessed by part of his soul. Indeed, when Harry had elected, or perhaps insisted was a better description, to take on Tom, he had neglected to consider how the decision would affect her nearly as much as it did him. Perhaps even more so. He had had years to come to terms with his connection to Voldemort. He learned to use the soul within him, though at the time he had been ignorant to the reasons for his abilities, to help him in his quest. Ginny on the other hand had to live with the messages of blood she'd written on the school walls, the students she'd helped to petrify, the basilisk she'd helped set loose on her fellow student. It had taken seven years for many of her fellow classmates to forgive her for something they could never fully understand. As she looked back at him, he spotted tears in her chocolate eyes, and his impulsivity became all too clear.

He moved toward her again hands outstretched to draw her into his arms, dry her tears, sooth away the pain he'd caused her. At least he'd had the sense not to bring Tom with him to talk to her. For a moment, Harry thought she'd let him comfort her, her shoulders sagged, her eyes softened with pain. She looked defeated, small.

" _Repulso,"_

Ginny's spell hit him square in the chest and he staggered back a few steps.

"He will _never_ be just a child Harry!"

It was pointless to argue, he could tell. She was furious again, her chest puffed out her shoulders square, the tears that had run down her face seemed only to fuel her rage. Harry couldn't help but notice, as he often did when she was angry, how very much she looked like her mother. He opened his mouth to speak but words failed him. Harry held her steady, fiery gaze.

"It's only temporary."

She laughed. The humorless sound sent a resounding chill down Harry's spine. It was cold, lifeless. Ginny resumed pacing, her straight, waist length ginger hair seemed to frizz away from her catching in the fading shafts of sunlight that filtered through the window with which the Room of Requirement had seen fit to provide them.

Suddenly she was standing in front of him, his glasses fogging with her breath, her face contorted with absurd pained fury.

"You know Harry, if you really think that you're completely mental. And if you don't and you're lying to try to placate me…"

The threat hung in the air, open-ended and electric. Harry did not fear her, but her anguish subdued his impulse to argue further.

"I would never lie to you Ginny."

He raised his hands to her shoulders and held her steadily before him. She was silent for several moments and then sighed.

"That might be the least insane thing you've said since you sat down."

The gap in the conversation left much to be desired for comfort. Harry held her against him, though she never fully relaxed. Despite her acquiescence to his touch, he felt the dread the churned his stomach grow only greater. Defeat, passivity was not how Ginny argued. Quiet acceptance was never the climax of the fight, but rather impassioned words and slammed doors and hasty apparitions. This silent, stiff, peaceful denouement sewed only foreboding in Harry. Though there had been some comfort in their embrace, it quickly vanished with the finality in her expression.

In school, Hermione often accused Ron and him of being dense, of missing the more important subtleties of emotion. Of course, this had been primarily directed at Ron, but he too had at times completely failed to see the finer details in favor of the greater picture. When he had taken in Tom, he'd been looking at the wizarding world through the round eyeglasses of an orphan, left alone in a world with people who hated him for everything that he was. He saw his desire, his fear, his memories and though Tom's origin in many ways frightened him, he would not see evil in an infant, no matter how familiar or alarming his face.

But now, in Ginny's warm brown eyes he was reminded that when looking at the bigger picture one often forgot the brushstrokes, the colors that went into creating it. There were tears in her eyes, replacing those his thumbs had wiped away. They traced great red lines down her cheeks, salty as the ocean. And for once, he didn't miss the subtleties, the hints, the change in her position, the tremble of her chin as she backed away from him. She still hugged herself, fingers tucked tightly below her elbows, wand sticking out from her side at her left hip.

"I'm sorry Ginny," Harry felt tears sting his own green eyes, beading on his dark lashes, "I'm so sorry."

Her sob crashed over him like ice from a glacier calving into the sea. The dread in his stomach exploded, threatening to take him with it.

"I know you are, Harry," She looked out the window so all he could see was the now limp curtain of her ginger hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders, "But I can't. I just can't."

Tom let out a raucous giggle that filled the room, startling Harry. He was smart, Tom was, which was hardly a surprise to Harry, and as soon as Harry asked him, he quieted again, though he was still grinning and pointing at a sleek grey and white cat that, unbeknownst to Harry, was playing with the hem of Harry's robes. Upon realizing he had been witnessed, the cat froze and then darted away. Disappointment spread over Tom's face, hollowing his round baby cheeks. To his surprise, Harry felt a little tug in his chest at the sight, despite the boiling frustration he felt with the child at the moment, but the door swung inward admitting a Hogwarts robed bush of brown hair that attacked him with a hug, and Ron, whose speckly face had yet to fade away.

Harry returned Hermione's hug gladly. It had been too long since he'd seen her. His training kept him busy almost daily with studies or long hours at the ministry. He was glad for it, the spells, both defensive, offensive, and for the purposes of tracking were far beyond the scope of anything he had been taught in school, but after Hogwarts, a part of him had sincerely hoped for an end to examinations and classes. Any other time he had, he dedicated to stolen nights in Hogsmeade whenever Ginny could get away from the school. He saw Hermione when he could, but when he could was not often.

 _Smack._ Harry's face burned and smarted where Hermione's hand connected with his cheek.

"Ow!" He pressed his fingers to the red skin, "Hermione, what-"

"You're an idiot Harry." Hermione's cross expression put him a bit in mind of McGonagall's though there was a patented flare of anger that was hers and hers alone, "I love you, and you're a good man but you are an absolute idiot."

Now he had time to register Ron's expression, he could see his friends face was not blotchy from the acne that had plagued him since their third year but from anger. Well, it was blotchy from the former as well, but the anger far overpowered the pimples. His glare was positively murderous and the maroon of his fast contrasted starkly with the overlong ginger fringe.

"What the bloody hell did you do to Ginny?"

Harry sighed and tried to ignore the sting that filled his chest at the mention of her name. It had only been a few hours hadn't it? Maybe half a day? Three days tops. And yet it felt as though it had been months since their fight. He had had a rough time of it, throwing himself into his auror training and caring for Tom, though he couldn't help but feel resentment for the child despite his deep efforts not to. The boy had done nothing. He was angry at himself. But the fact remained that had Tom not been there, he and Ginny would still be together and his two closest friends would not be looking at him as though they would like to curse him.

"It's not that simple."

He gestured to the baby sitting in the high chair Rosmerta had transfigured from one of the bar stools. Not many infants came into the Three Broomsticks. Harry made a mad dive as Tom, wriggling in the seat, managed to topple from it. The boy let out a wail and then floated in mid-air. He felt the color drain from his own skin, flushing away at the memory of Voldemort flying through the sky after him, no broomstick, borne aloft out of pure hate. Grabbing Tom gently from where he rotated in the air, Harry settled back into his own seat. It's temporary, He reminded himself.

"What…" The youngest Weasley boy's eyes widened, "Is Andromeda on Holiday or something?"

Hermione's brown eyes searched the boy's features. He wondered how much Ginny had told her. Clearly Ron only knew that his sister was upset, or his friend would have been a bit more frightened at this very moment. Then again, Ron had always been a bit slow on the uptake when it really mattered. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in Hermione's brain as she analyzed every inch of the infant's face, the set of his cheekbones, the thickness of the infantile fluff, the simple Muggle onesie he wore, the straightness of his little nose, the thin line of his lips and lastly, his eyes. Her gaze met Harry's, her own pink blush fading from her cheeks. She clutched Ron's forearm.

"Harry…"

He nodded and she swallowed hard. Harry never understood how she could be so quick, but today he appreciated it. Ron stared between them, confused, and quickly growing angry.

"What?"

"This isn't Teddy, Ron," Hermione ran the hand that had so recently clutched Ron's arm along the top of it.

Harry swallowed, "This is Tom."

As if in agreement, the baby let out a quiet gurgle.

Ron cocked his head to the side and swiped a bit of his overlong, unkempt, ginger fringe from his face. He too stared at Tom for a long time. Under such intense scrutiny, it seemed Tom grew uncomfortable, however, for he turned back toward Harry, gathering fistfuls of his sweater in his little hands. Harry ran his hand up and down the infant's back. The name seemed to click in Ron's head as well for he leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair, the maroon drained from his face, replaced by chalky white.

"Harry, mate…"

Whatever Ron had thought cause his sister to break his off with Harry, clearly had not been anything close to this. _And why would it be?_ Harry thought ruefully. _We all thought we were done with Voldemort._ Words seemed to fail both of his friends and he really didn't feel like offering any himself. He'd already argued this more times that he cared to, with the Senior Aurors, with Mr. Weasley, Ginny, a few members of the DMLE who didn't understand why he would want the responsibility for the child while the department searched for evidence to back his claim of the child's parentage.

Hermione, her anger seemed to abate when she realized the state he was in, sat down next to Harry and placed an arm around his shoulders. Eventually, the innkeeper returned with drinks for them, their chosen favorites, though her typically cheery demeanor vanished when she registered the wretched state of the three companions. Unnoticed, Tom dozed against Harry's chest. Harry smiled his thanks to the frizzy-haired witch as she slipped back out the door

With a few alcoholic libations to aid their discussion and shake them from their stupor, the friends found themselves deep in discussion. Harry reluctantly recounted the incident in Spinner's End and in Evandarus' office explaining how he came to have guardianship over the boy. Asleep, he wasn't so ominous and Harry thought he saw Hermione softening to the child, though she and Ron still presented a united front against Harry's decision. When Harry found his defense lacking and his argument, weary, however, she rose to the occasion with her usual astute assessment.

"Because, Ron, no matter how hard Harry tries, he can never not be himself."

Both Ron and Harry stared at her confused, and Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

"All Harry has ever done is try to save people. Try to make things better for everyone at large. He was willing to sacrifice himself if it meant that Voldemort would stop attacking Hogwarts."

Harry wondered if there would ever come a day where Ron wouldn't flinch on hearing that name.

"It's what makes him a great wizard."

A little color rose into Ron's ears, but if Hermione noticed it, she chose not to respond.

"And now he finds this child, Voldemort's child, and despite the fact that he's barely out of school, barely of age, barely even able to care for himself," she levelled he gaze at Harry, whose mind, unbidden, drifted to the distinctly unkempt state of his flat, "takes it upon himself to take the child in. Because in his mind he has to be responsible for Tom. He has to make sure things don't happen as they did with Voldemort."

Harry tried not to look too much like a goldfish as she finished her analysis. Hermione reached across the table between them and grabbed his wrist. _I must not tell lies_ caught the light from the window, glinting a sinister pearly white.

"You don't have to do this Harry. There are other people, other families, families who would love to take in a child no matter his background." Her expression was earnest, sympathetic and so very familiar. How many times had she tried to persuade him to do something. He wondered how many times he had actually listened.

"This is only temporary Hermione. While the ministry looks for proof of what I claim. Once they do, they'll decide how to handle the situation."

Hermione laughed and shook her head, sharing a knowing glance with Ron, who failed to find amused but had reached disbelief.

"No offense Harry, but if this is temporary then I'm a niffler."

Harry could find no way to argue. As usual, she was right.

The months passed slowly in the summer of 1999. As the millennium inched ever closer, Muggles and wizards alike fell prey to predictions that the world would end on the new year. The Quibbler, had become a near constant source for "end of the world" news and more and more people purchased the magazine, taking in its predictions as though they were the latest in scientific research. The Ministry, under the careful and methodical leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt went to great lengths working in concert with the Daily Prophet, to dispel these divinations, but it seemed to only assuage the fears of the more reasoned.

Harry, nor his friends, nor many of his fellow ministry workers felt that there was any reason to worry that the world would end at the stroke of midnight on the first of January 2000, but it did make their work more challenging. Predictions for how the world would end ranged from solar flares and polar reversals on the Muggle end, to a new dark wizard and something called the Eater of Worlds on the Wizarding side. This particularly dramatic and illustrious creature was the current favorite among those who ate up the Quibbler's words as gospel. With all of these theories flying about, dozens of tips camr into the Auror headquarters daily, and the trainees had been tasked with sorting through those that held real merit and those that were deemed too unrealistic for even the wizarding world.

And among all of this "end of the world" chatter, there still came the occasional Death Eater attack. Though most had been rounded up and sent to Azkaban pending trial before the Wizengamot, there were still a few stragglers that had managed to avoid the diligent investigation of the British magical law enforcement by fleeing overseas and roosting in the shadows. They would return to the United Kingdom though and wreak havoc in the Muggle world, destroying bridges, creating sinkholes, torching neighborhoods, and then flee again. Each time, their number dwindled. It was Kingsley's goal that they have them all imprisoned by the new year.

In late August, Harry returned from a ludicrous "end of the world" based investigation on the coattails of his mentor Humphrey, to find the office in an uproar. People flitted about barely pausing to consider who they were passing by. Shouts echoed across the room as the forty or so on duty, trained aurors made themselves ready for action. Harry ducked as a bag of vanishing dust ala Weasley's Wizard Wheezes flew over his head. His eyes raked the hubbub for a familiar face and spotted a rather grim-faced Neville Longbottom cataloguing the healing and pepper-up potions being doled out. While Instantent immediately made for the head Auror's office, Harry cut across the room toward his former classmate.

"Neville!"

He ducked under the arm of a passing Auror and slipped around the desks as Neville looked up from his clipboard.

"Harry, sorry uh, gotta keep counting,"

The quill drew feverish checks on the parchment as the passing aurors collected the phials from the boxes in front of him. The round-faced trainee left a line of ink on his skin as he rubbed his forehead. Harry resolved to tell him about it later. To mention it now would have worsened his stress.

"Hecklestreak, robes on. We haven't got all day." Kevin Drake shouted as he passed Harry.

Blue eyes wide, Martina stumbled past them, trying and failing miserably to get her arm through the sleeve of the magically fortified leather robes worn by Aurors as she rushed to join those preparing to apparate away. Harry hurried over, motioning for her to stop and offered his assistance.

"What's going on?" He asked as she pocketed several of the potions Neville was doling out.

"Some sort of attack up in The Borders," She huffed and straightened the robes, "I'm surprised they don't want you to come along. It sounds like Death Eaters."

It was a tactic the Department had quickly become fond of using and one to which Harry had quickly grown accustomed. The first time they had come across remnants of the Death Eaters after Voldemort's downfall, Harry had accidentally been part of the party. He was an adept fighter and could more than hold his own, but it hadn't been ministry policy to pit new recruits against skilled enemies. Upon recognition however, the Death Eaters had broken from their usual tactics and did one of two things: fled, or refocused their attacks on him. Both were advantageous to the Aurors.

Harry scowled, but could ask nothing further. His fellow trainee bid him goodbye and rushed over to meet the disapparating team. He called caution after her. Were there really so many Death Eaters left that this attack warranted that most of the office be emptied? A firework's display of cracks echoed about the room, bouncing off desks, the walls, the ceiling. Then it was just Harry, Neville, a few other trainees and ten or so Aurors remaining to go about the day's business. Harry and Neville shared a discontented glance in the silence that captured the hall. Ernie MacMillan dropped into a seat next to Neville and let out a long sigh. An Auror's training took a long time to complete, but Harry wasn't used to being left behind and already, he was growing restless.

After what felt like a thousand memos regarding conspiracies, cults and uncorroborated reports of dark wizards, Harry felt ready to set his desk on fire. It was maddening, the waiting. Neville seemed to take it all in stride, and he remembered that during their final year at Hogwarts, Neville had been left behind to hold everyone together and Harry, Ron and Hermione's absence. He was accustomed to waiting and not knowing. Ernie had given up work altogether and played a game of exploding snap with Tyler Wilkins, another trainee.

With a resounding crack, Karl Appleweltch appeared before them, his face darkened with soot.

"The fighting is over. None of us have been too badly injured. We believe we've captured everyone responsible, but we're staying to clean up. You should all go home and get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy."

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question but the Auror had disapparated before the words could leave his mouth. With a sigh, he gathered his things and set out for home. He thoroughly disliked waiting.

The next morning was an uncharacteristic crisp and bright London day. Late August blossomed through the streets with a gust of superheated air as Harry left Tom with the babysitter. He hated doing it, but there was little other choice available to him. Mrs. Weasley had still not completely forgiven him for hurting her daughter in the way that he had, and given that Tom was a large part of the reason they were no longer together, he didn't think dropping Tom off with her every day from sun up to sundown was the best way to put the boy in her good graces.

Appleweltch had been right. The bustle in the Auror's Department was constant, though nowhere near the chaos that had ensued the day before. Humphry nodded to him as he passed the man. A small group of reporters had Instantent's full attention. Harry ducked hastily behind the collar of his jacket to avoid their searching gaze.

Harry dumped his bag in his locker and shut it in with a tap of his wand. For extra measure, given the press' presence, he added a few more protections spells, should anyone come looking. It was on his way back to the main hall that he spotted a rather familiar figure in one of the conference rooms that lined each of the walls. It was impossible to hear inside the room, but none other than Professor Minerva McGonagall was unmistakably the occupant. He paused, both surprised and curious as Evandarus, grim-faced, appeared to recount something to her. Martina holding a file of papers bent low and set them on the table. She caught Harry's questioning expression as she rose and moved to leave the room, but not before the Hogwarts Headmistress sunk into one of the waiting chairs, hand over her mouth.

Hecklestreak shut the door behind her as she exited. It sealed with a blaze of blue light around the edges. Her blue eyes had grown darker with sadness as she met Harry's gaze.

"Last nights attack… Well a lot of people died. We got everyone but, most of the town was gone. And… Well I guess her daughter was one of the first killed."

Harry was struck dumb. McGonagall had a daughter? Why had no one ever mentioned this? Why hadn't he thought to actually talk to his professors rather than focus on his own self-interest? Although, he doubted many would have shared much of their personal lives. All the same the regret needled at him, as it had after Dumbledore died. Of course, many of the things he now knew would certainly have given him pause when the man was alive, he doubted they would have colored his opinion of the deceased headmaster any more than they had posthumously. And then a wave of sympathy overcame his shock.

The Weasley family did their best to gather at least once a month now that nearly all the children had moved away. Only Ginny remained at home, and even that was temporary. She had been recruited by the Holyhead Harpies straight out of Hogwarts as a second-string chaser. This was the second time in August, however that they had congregated, the first being Ginny's eighteenth birthday. Harry looked forward to the time he spent there. It conjured summer memories of quidditch and gnome picking and Christmases spent with Celestina Warbeck warbling doughy love carols behind rambling garlands and tatty stockings on the mantle.

Tom had learned some basic words and his more alarming magical talents did not seem to come out when he was around the Burrow, so the Weasleys, all but Ginny, had slowly warmed and come to accept his presence in their home, at least while Harry was still there to guide and guard him. Being a father suited Harry fine. Even if this endeavor had started out as a temporary arrangement. Hermione, as always, had been right. Even when the Ministry had decided to direct their focus elsewhere and the investigation into the provenance of Tom's origin ceased, Harry did not give him up. He couldn't. For all the trouble he could have been, Harry could never shake that glimmer of light in his midnight eyes. It deserved a chance and Harry felt, so long as he was loved and nourished and respected, Tom would grow up well. And loved, he was, strange though it might have seemed.

This Sunday in particular, all but Percy had returned to the Burrow. Once estranged, Percy had made amends for his past behavior toward his family, which in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, was almost immediately forgiven. No one sitting at this table was unscathed by the loss of Fred and their pain healed that old wound permanently. Bill and Fleur sat next to each other near one end of the table with Charlie, chatting animatedly about one of his more recent injuries. Harry glanced at the jagged scar that wound its way up his arm and remembered the talons and spikes of the Hungarian Horntail he'd once battled. Ron and Hermione dropped into a seat across from him and Ron helped himself to the chicken with the urgency of a starving fox. Hermione shook her head, her expression an amusing mixture of disgust and fondness.

"Ronald," Mrs. Weasley chided from one end of the table and her son lowered the chicken leg to the plate.

Harry smiled and tried to feed Tom some peas. It did not go well.

Lunch was well underway, when Arthur Weasley brought up the attack in the Borders, asking if there was anything more Harry could provide beyond what the Prophet had said. He shook his head and then he remembered.

"Did anyone know Professor McGonagall had a daughter?" He asked, fork halfway to his mouth.

Ron's eyebrows shot upward, and Hermione fixed him with a curious expression. Tom smeared his mashed peas on himself. Harry inwardly sighed. It was the exchange between Bill and Charlie that Harry thought the strangest, a waggled eyebrow and a deep blush.

"Moira, yeah. I supposed you wouldn't have known. They were not on speaking terms last I heard," Bill leaned forward, "She was in Charlie's year, a Gryffindor. I think Charlie rather fancied her. She was really powerful. Scary even. I had to fight her in dueling club once. I wouldn't have wanted to again. Her father died during the First Wizarding War long before she was born. Although…" Bill trailed off for a moment, biting his lip, "She left Hogwarts in their 6th year. I don't think McGonagall and she ever reconciled. Why?"

Harry felt a deep sorrow for the professor he respected so deeply, "She was killed, the other night. In that attack on the Borders. McGonagall was at the Auror's office the next morning."

The table, once so lively, fell into silence. Ginny broke it.

"You caught them, didn't you? The ones who killed her?"

Harry nodded and caught her brown eyes in his own green gaze. She'd sat as far from him as she could.

"Yes, they caught them. All fifteen responsible for the attack. We reckon that's about the last of the Death Eaters."

Harry found it difficult to pull himself out of the staring contest he shared with Ginny. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, her attention slipped to the pea covered toddler seated next to him, and the moment was broken.

"Well that is at least a small comfort," Mrs. Weasley commented, busying herself with the mashed potatoes that sat before them, "Come on eat up."

And with that, the afternoon proceeded into evening and the evening into night, ending with the crack of apparition and smiling goodbyes.

a/n- I didn't intend to write so much, but Harry Potter gets away from me and I confess myself enamored with a few of the passages in here. Unfortunately I have many years to cover before Hogwarts and though I am following my carefully laid out plan, its taking more time to get through it than it should. But such is the way with stories: once you breath life into them, they have a way of drawing you through knotted brambles and twisted paths until you reach the end.

Read and review, my lovely readers. I do long to hear your words, even if they are critical.

Wotcher,

Tabitha


	4. A Year of Celebrations

Harry Potter and the Third Riddle

Chapter 3

A Year of Celebrations

 _Together since before the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be named, no doubt those long nights in a shabby, drafty tent come to mind for these two lovers. Ron Weasley, partner at Weasley Wizard Wheezes and Hermione Granger, muggleborn and a junior aid in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures today announce their engagement. The couple have not released the date of the prospective nuptials, but no doubt the eyes and ears of wizarding Britain will be waiting in anticipation for any more news on the upcoming ceremony._

 _One does wonder whether Harry Potter shares his friend's happiness, however. Since his break up with Mr. Weasley's sister, Ginny, Mr. Potter's love life has been non-existent, though no doubt he has had no shortage of options. Working diligently in the Auror's Department during the day and caring for his adoptive son, Tom, in the evenings it can be said that Mr. Potter has had little time to find his own romantic match. Could he possibly be happy as his closest friends move on into a life without him._

The story went on to speculate on wedding locations, possible dress designers, who might bake the cake, whether or not anyone famous would be on the guest list, and other things that made Harry want to laugh out loud in front of his entire office. If any of these "reporters" actually knew either Ron or Hermione, they would know the affair would be quiet, stayed and devoid of extraneous entanglements like worrying about which famous people to invite. Though no doubt Ron would try to find some reason why it would be okay to invite the entire Chudley Cannons quidditch team.

 _Spellbound_. What a rag, Harry thought as he tossed the lastest issue containing Ron and Hermione's engagement announcement into the nearest rubbish bin. Of course, it had hardly been a secret to the wizarding world that they were together, nor had they tried to make it one. The everyday lives of "the golden trio," as Harry, Ron and Hermione had been dubbed by the press, had been anything but private from the moment they walked off the battlegrounds at Hogwarts. Not the least in thanks to Rita Skeeter, now the editor and contributing reporter for the aforementioned rag.

Harry took a bite of his corn beef sandwich, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley-Molly's weekend care package, and shuffled back through the case file. There had been an uptick in the sale of illicit potions being sold across London in the months following the new year. These all following a rather organized breaking at St. Mungo's in which several vaults of potion stock were emptied. To Harry, the whole thing felt like and inside job and the subsequent uptick in illegal trafficking of the potions seem to coincide rather well with the late-January incident. He packed up his wand, slid on his robe and handed in a travel report to Humphrey Instantent. The man looked up.

"Potter you've already been to St. Mungo's twice. Why would you think I'd authorize a third?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "It just doesn't add up Humphrey."

He was no longer a trainee Auror. No, soon after the millennium came in, without incident, he might add, himself and his fellow trainees were made official junior Aurors. Their supervisor, however remained Humphrey. He was an exhausting man to tolerate, unfailingly by the book and unequalled in his loyalty to the ministry, but such things often got in the way of how Harry processed the cases with which he was tasked. It wasn't as though Harry thought himself above the rules, it was just… well sometimes going through a thousand checkpoints to get to a simple yes or no answer got in the way of his process. Still, under it all, Humphrey was a good man, and begrudgingly Harry had grown to respect. Him.

They stared each other down for several long seconds before Humphrey finally relented. Perhaps it was the lateness of the afternoon, or he was simply in a good mood. Harry nodded to Neville on his way out the department door. The other man gave him a lopsided grin, lower lip split as he and a senior Auror, Harold Peaks, returned with a younger, incapacitated man whose eyebrows sang the time of day. He looked forward to hearing the beginning of that story.

Diagon Alley was mostly deserted in the mid-afternoon. Due to what the Head Auror had deemed an "unreasonable and irresponsible amount of overtime" Harry wandered the Wizarding London high street with a slow but purposeful stride. A rogue drop of rain fell on his unruly black hair and he pulled his cloak more tightly around himself against the chill of March.

Tom was with Andromeda Tonks and Teddy. The two boys, though both only three years old, got on swimmingly and often the poor woman had difficulty picking out her grandson when they were together. Teddy, a metamorphmagus like his mother, found it necessary to copy his newfound friend's appearance. Together, they drove her to madness, but she assured Harry that their youth and energy helped her to forget all that she had lost. Though part of him regretted the omission, Harry never told her of Tom's family. To do so would only be to further burden her, and he wanted no part in complicating her already difficult life.

Yes, as far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned, Tom was nothing more than a young boy, a victim of the second wizarding war, just a baby left alone in a perilous world. If Harry had his way, that's all he would ever be. He knew that wasn't possible. If the resemblance to his father had been striking when Tom was an infant, it was all the more evident now as he grew older. There remained alive those who'd met Tom Riddle Jr before he became Lord Voldemort, who would undoubtedly remember his face. Someday those people would recognize Tom for who he was. But Harry would do his best to make sure the boy was prepared, informed, ready as he could be for that weight to come crashing down on his shoulders.

Harry brushed his brooding aside. There were more important things to think about today.

St Mungo's offered a rarely used service to detect the date of one's birth if it was unknown. It was accurate to a three day window of time. In the course of the investigation, the Auror department had chosen to test Tom for an approximate date, in the hopes that there might be hospital records regarding his birth. Karl Appleweltch had declared it a "blooming great waste of time," and Harry had to agree. Any woman bearing Voldemort's child, whether willingly or not, would have no need to give birth in a hospital, of that he was certain, but it did provide Harry with the unique opportunity to learn his son's birthday.

And so, here he was standing in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies staring at the latest edition of the Firebolt and wondering what exactly would be the best gift for a three year old. He hadn't known many in his lifetime. The Dursley's had been the kind of family that only really associated with people their own age. That meant that their friends tended to have children around the same time as they had and tended to raise them in the same way that they had. And in any case, even when a family did happen to have a younger child, it wasn't as though Harry had been given a chance to meet them or interact in any way.

Teddy he knew would relish a toy broom. The little boy had a wild spirit always running about and knocking things over. _Rather like his_ mother He thought with a smile as he remembered the troll's leg umbrella stand that so often fell prey to Tonks' clumsiness. Tom was the opposite. He could be wild when he was with Teddy. Andromeda had confessed to Harry that she had rather hoped Tom's thoughtful demeanor would rub off on Teddy, but it ended up the other way around. Still, when Tom was alone, he was the kind of child to watch and consider everyone in the room. Very different than Harry himself had been.

Harry continued past the quidditch shop and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, a few game shops until finally his eyes fell on the secluded shop just past Ollivander's. _Oswald's Curiosities for Inquiring Young Minds._ He'd never given the shop more than a passing glance. He'd never had a need, but now the slim silver letters and the faded stars on the shopfront invited him in.

Like Flourish and Blots and Ollivanders, only the little store's owner could possibly have found anything for which they were searching. Toys, games and oddities were stacked, one atop the other in no particular order, and from what little Harry could see, the merchandise came from all over the world. He walked past all of the toys. Tom had plenty and he didn't think the boy had any need for more.

Sitting atop a small end table toward the rear of the shop was a small black globe. A thousand little holes punctured its surface, giving it the appearance of a pin cushion that remembered the abuse. Harry lifted it in his hands and turned it to the side, hoping that something in its design might hint at its use. Though it was metal, it was warm to the touch and the magic of the object thrummed through the skin of his hands.

"It's an asteri." A short witch with shoulder length dark hair descended the spiral staircase.

She stopped a few feet in front of him and held out her hand. Her round grey eyes took up most of her face contrasting sharply, though not unpleasantly, with the tininess of her nose. Harry watched as her grey gaze ascended his face landing, as so often people's eyes did, on the pale scar he still bore on his forehead. She raised an eyebrow.

"Madame Oswald."

Harry shook her hand and she took the asteri from him.

"And your scar introduces you," The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes crinkled.

He frowned and followed her toward the front of the shop where she began wrapping the asteri in an old copy of the Daily Prophet and then tucked it into a little brown bag.

"Seven sickles, three knuts." She leaned on her hand, staring at him.

"I didn't say I was going to buy it."

"You didn't have to. This was my father's shop, and his father's before him. If my only brother hadn't died fighting Grindelwald it would have been his. Instead he had to suffer the indignity of passing it to me. I grew up here. I know when someone is going to buy something."

"People are drawn to things in my store Mr. Potter. Often that for which they are searching is what they find. But I think this is not for yourself correct?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at her but shook his head. Her intuition bordered on clairvoyance, he noted. It wasn't unheard of, but he'd never seen anyone use it with such impunity.

"It's a birthday gift for my son."

"And he likes stars?" She asked.

With a nod, Harry set his money on the counter, "He has always loved the night sky."

The corners of Madame Oswald's thin lips curled up, "Then this is the perfect gift for him. An asteri holds within it a perfect map of the night sky, just as it would be if you went outside, but even on the darkest, cloudiest of nights, the stars are there. They were once used by the ancient Greek astronomers to study the heavens." Her smiled broadened, "Or so they say. But the name and the origin of all known asteri is Greek."

Harry reached out and took the package from her, "Thank you."

She counted the money on the counter and then slipped it into a chest she produced from a shelf on the other side. From it, she withdrew an old envelope of yellowed parchment and tapped it with a knotted grey wand. The paper glowed for a moment and then resumed looking like a forgotten piece of mail. Madame Oswald reached over the counter and slipped it into the bag as well.

"Instructions for its use, Mr. Potter. You wouldn't want to disappoint your son with a useless gift now would you?"

As he stepped from the shop, Harry was left with the distinct impression that there was far more to Madame Oswald than even the small amount he had experienced. The rebellious raindrops that attacked him before he went into the shop, had become a fully-fledged, early spring rainstorm.

Harry withdrew his wand.

" _Protego Pluvia"_

The faint shape of an umbrella sprouted from Harry's wand and extended upward an outward until it covered its conjurer. He tucked the little brown paper bag under his robes and continued out into the street, stopping in at Quality Quidditch Supplies to pick up a Toy Broom for Teddy.

There was a part of Harry that still hadn't gotten used to how similar Andromeda looked to her sister. However, her genuine smile when she opened the door always dissolved the resemblance.

"We had a long day today," She commented, leading him through the little house to the kitchen.

Tom and Teddy sat quietly on the floor, playing with a set of blocks quietly. There were holes in the knees of Tom's pants and the skin underneath was reddened. Harry suspected whatever injury he'd sustained had been healed by his daytime caretaker.

"Not too long I hope?" Harry asked as he settled at the table.

Andromeda handed him a mug of coffee. Upon hearing his voice, both boys jumped up, unceremoniously knocking over the tower they had so carefully built and attacked him, clinging to his legs like Grindylows. He laughed as he sat down and assisted each into his lap.

"Uhcle 'Awwy" Teddy greeted with a huge, lop-sided grin. His hair was blue and his eyebrows lurid, electric orange.

"Dad!" Tom wrapped his tiny arms around Harry's middle, a hug Harry returned with a smile.

"You didn't give Aunt 'Dromeda too much trouble did you?"

Harry took a sip of the proffered coffee, careful not to spill any on the children as they got comfortable in his lap. How they both managed to fit, he couldn't tell. He didn't have a very large lap. Andromeda, returning with her own cup sat shook her head.

"No, not too much trouble. They did have a bit of a disagreement over who had the best idea for a game to play," She pointed to Tom's knees with her wand, "Tom pushed Teddy and Teddy pushed back harder. But its nothing near as bad as what Tonks used to get into with her friends."

Harry frowned at her, ice creeping through his veins.

"Is this true?" he asked the two boys though he meant it for Tom.

Tom refused to meet his gaze, but Teddy brazenly responded, "No."

"Teddy!" The woman across the table from him snapped.

Teddy turned red and began to cry, hoping off Harry's lap and then running into the other room. Andromeda let out an exasperated huff and followed. Tom on the other hand, continued to hang his head, chewing his lower lip.

"Tom?"

Harry lifted the little boy's face up to meet his own and the child shook his head very slowly, very calculatedly, almost as though he was gauging what his father's reaction would be. The ice that had frozen in Harry's veins pooled at his stomach, a ball of frost. Without another thought for the coffee, Harry rose, picked up Tom, and headed toward the front door.

"I'll see you tomorrow Andromeda. Thank you for keeping an eye on them."

She looked up from where she was standing with the crying Teddy and grimaced goodbye. Outside, a cold mist engulfed Harry and Tom, but they weren't in it for very long, for Harry turned on the spot, vanishing with a pop.

Harry had grown slightly better at tidying his flat. Clothes, instead of being everywhere, were contained in the bed room. Shoes stayed close to the door, though not orderly enough that he didn't trip over them when he returned to his home. He swore under his breath, but didn't even take off his jacket before moving to the sitting area. He put Tom down on the couch.

It seemed that Tom knew he'd done something wrong, for the little boy was back to avoiding Harry's gaze. Only when Harry knelt down before him, clutching his shoulders tightly, did Tom's black gaze meet Harry's bespectacled one. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and sucked in several deep breath before he spoke.

"Do you know what a lie is, Tom?"

 _Children will test you_ , Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed in his head, _I don't know what you mean to do with him Harry but I don't think you know what you've gotten in to._ He was just a child. Just like any other child. And yet, Harry couldn't help but remember Voldemort in the orphanage, unapologetic about the children's animals he had tortured. Pretending and failing to prove he cared about what the other kids thought of him. Tom shook his head again. Perhaps he hadn't explained before. In fact, he was rather certain he hadn't now that he thought of it.

"A lie is a story we tell about something that isn't true," Harry paused, "It's when we say something happened that didn't or say something didn't happen when it did."

Tom nodded, trying again to look away and failing.

"Do you understand?"

Again, he nodded.

"Now, Tom, in this house we don't tell lies. Do you understand?"

Another nod.

"Alright then. Earlier, when I asked you what happened today, did you tell me the truth?"

There was a long pause. It was so easy to see a child's mind working. Tom's pale face seemed to implode and tears welled in his eyes. It took everything in Harry no to break and simply hug him. Morality. Were children born with a capacity to understand it or was it something they all learned as they grew up?

Finally, Tom shook his head, "No."

His voice was weak, shakey, barely more than a wimper but it was there. Harry let out a sigh.

"I'll ask you again then. Is what Aunt 'Dromeda said true?" He brought Tom's weepy dark eyes up to meet his own again, "Did you push Teddy?"

Tom nodded, tears leaking over his round toddler cheeks, "I just wanted to play my game. Teddy's game was dumb."

"But you lied to me earlier about it. Why?"

Tom bit his lip, "Didn't want to get in twoble."

"And what happened?"

"I got in twouble."

"So what did you learn?"

"No lying."

"Why?"

"You'll be mad."

"Yes, and?"

"Still in twoble."

Tom's lower lip was shaking, and his chin threatened to crumble in on itself. Harry leaned forward.

"Why, Tom? Why were you still in trouble?"

The little boy sniffled, "Lying's wong."

And then there were tears, many tears. Harry knew it was coming and pulled the little boy into a tight hug. The dread that had settled in his gut had thawed and he felt that all too common guilt flush over him instead. _Children will test you_ Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed through his head. Test they did. They sat like that for several minutes, Tom on the couch and Harry hugging him tight from where he knelt on the floor. His knees ached, his legs cramped he sat that way for so long.

"I'm sowwy, Dad" Tom sniffled, as he began to settle.

The words rained down on him like a summer breeze, bringing a smile to his face. The tension he hadn't realized knotted the muscles of his shoulders slipped away and he drew back to wipe the tears from his son's cheeks.

"I forgive you, Tom. Just don't do it again."

Harry pressed a kiss into the dark hair on the little boy's head and the exhausted child to his bed. Tom curled up almost immediately, falling asleep under the soft comforter. Harry let out a sigh as he watched all the trouble leave his little face.

The St. Mungo's/illicit potions case kept Harry busy for the better part of the spring and summer, but yielded a rather surprising and extrememly satisfying end in mid-July. It had been an arduous and meticulous task to unravel the spider's web of connections to two St. Mungo's junior healer's who'd made a bad deal on a start up company that almost immediately flopped.

Healer Erik Christiansen and Healer Millicent Marrelplank were a young couple only a few years his senior who's foolish investment in a dragon pox miracle cure company left them worse than broke. In a desperate attempt to climb out of the proverbial hole, they confessed to Harry, whom they were stunned was their arresting Auror, that they had encountered a man with many back alley connections and a plan to sell healing potions at a very profitable rate. The idea had seemed airtight to them. Ravenclaws, these healers were not. After several conversations and a promise to help reduce their sentence if they cooperated with his investigation, after all assisting in the theft of potentially life-saving potions from a hospital was quite a serious charge, Harry had uncovered a very familiar face at the head of it all. None other than the ginger-haired, pipe-smoking, greasy Mundungus Fletcher. Sending him to Azkaban had put Harry, and many of the senior Aurors in a positively cheerful mood. No one in the office had forgotten the part he played in the death of Alastor Moody. Even Kingsley had made a point of taking time out of his busy, minister of magic schedule, to see the slimy man taken away. It was the perfect birthday present for himself.

September first came and went and even four years later, Harry hadn't quite gotten used to the idea that he wouldn't be boarding the Hogwarts express. A part of him missed the letters from McGonagall, written in elegant emerald script that arrived at the end of August telling him what books he needed to buy. However, it was on the tenth of September that year that Harry received a summons to the Burrow the very next day. The owl that delivered the note was a pretty grey creature with an arched brown and pileated wings. She squawked indignantly as he tried to take the message without giving her a treat but he had none on hand. He hadn't gotten a new owl after Hedwig. Something about it just felt wrong.

Though he didn't recognize the bird, the script in the letter was unmistakable. Unbidden, Harry felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of Ginny's hurried scrawl.

 _Harry_

 _I think we should talk about the wedding. You see, somehow I'm Herimone's Maid of Honor and I can't imagine Ron's picked anyone else to be his Best Man so… I just thought maybe we should get together and organize something for them. What do people do for weddings?_

 _Anyway, the Burrow, tomorrow. Don't worry. I promise I won't try to cook anything._

 _Ginny_

He wanted desperately not to be as happy as he was at that very moment, but he couldn't help himself. Their argument seemed like yesterday and years ago. He'd long ago accepted the blame for why their relationship ended, and over the years, their days of not talking to each other had faded, until the pleasantries they exchanged were almost identical to those they'd shared before they had even gotten together. The Weasleys were, afterall, Harry's family and he refused to lose that over a hasty decision. It remained, however, that her laugh still made his heart beat faster, her jokes made him laugh a little harder than was really necessary, and when she said good-bye at the end of the Weasley monthly dinners, he still wished it didn't have to be.

He scribbled down an affirmative response in his own, pointy hand and tied it to the owl. It took off with a haughty hoot from his window, soaring back over the streets of London, on its way to the ramshackle cottage a few kilometers outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Tom clung tightly to Harry's hand as they hurried up the stone path to the Burrow's front door. It bordered on foolish, bringing him here when he was supposed to be meeting Ginny, but he hated to bother Andromeda with additional child care if he didn't have to. She already did so much of it, and Tom was rarely a bother at the Weasley house. In fact, Harry thought Mrs. Weasley was rather fond of him, or perhaps it was simply that she enjoyed having a child around the house again. Bill and Fleur rarely came by now they had Victoire to care for and none of the other Weasley children had produced any offspring yet. Still, he was grateful that it was Mrs. Weasley who opened the door when they knocked.

"Harry dear!" She cried, pulling him into a tight hug, "How good to see you! I didn't realize you'd be by. What a surprise! And Tom!"

"Hello Mrs. Weasley," Harry greeted as she released him in favor of Tom.

With the toddler now seated securely, if a little reluctantly, on her hip, Mrs. Weasley chided, "How many times? It's Molly dear. You're not in school anymore."

She hurried off toward the kitchen. Tom shot Harry a scowl. He'd entered a phase where his preferred mode of transportation was walking, and he did so efficiently. Harry rarely carried him anywhere anymore unless he was tired. But alas, Mrs. Weasley had little way of knowing this, so Harry shot Tom a warning look as he followed her through the lowest level of the Burrow.

"Would you like a roll, dear. They just came out of the oven so they're nice and fresh."

Harry's mouth watered at the thought of good homemade baking. He was a decent cook, himself, at least as far as his skills with a muggle stove were concerned, but he'd never learned to bake while growing up. _No one_ touched Aunt Petunia's oven.

"Thank you Mrs-Molly." He reached out and took one of the rolls from the bowl on the table. It was indeed delicious, "I wonder, do you know where Ginny is?"

Mrs. Weasley spun around at his question a broad smile on her face. She set the butter dish on the table.

"Ginny? I believe she went out back. Flying, I expect. She's always flying."

Harry tried not to be as elated as Molly was at his question. Of course she was flying. He grabbed another roll from the table, slipping it into his pocket and took another bite of his own.

"Brilliant. You'll look after Tom for me?"

"Of course I will. Don't you worry. You just have fun."

"Thanks."

Harry slipped out the back door and into the small garden behind the house. From the looks of it, it was in dire need of degnoming. A few crept along, shadowing his path as he headed out toward the field where they had spent summers playing two-a-side Quidditch. The second string of the Holyhead Harpies quidditch team was not payed nearly as well as the main team, therefore, Ginny had elected to remain at the Burrow until such a time as she was promoted to the actual main team. She didn't think it would be long, and Harry was still surprised she hadn't made the main team her first tryout. She was a brilliant chaser.

The shed where the Weasleys kept their spare brooms sat in the margin where the garden path ended and the tall grase of the field beyond began. Harry paused for a moment, and then grabbed one of the tatty Comet 260s from the shed, just in case. Days and months went by between his opportunities to fly and if Ginny were practicing, there was no reason he had to keep his feet on the ground. Harry hopped on the broom and kicked off hard. A Comet 260 had poor turning ability and even poorer speed, but what it lacked in agility, it more than made up for in durability. _A good beater's broom_ Oliver Wood had once described it. Harry had to agree, a bludger would sooner dent than break the hefty branch that made up the handle of the broom on which he currently sat.

Lost in thought, he failed to see the streak of emerald green flying toward him. Before he had a chance to react, a rain of sparks fell over his head, followed by Ginny's laughter. As fast as his broom would allow, Harry wheeled around to give chase. Ginny slowed, the Firebolt he had gotten her as a seventeenth birthday present glowed in the afternoon sunlight, as, he noticed, did the ginger braid down her back. As soon as he caught up she tossed him the quaffle.

"I need to finish practicing. Mind trying to keep it away from me. According to Gwenog my steals need work. I think that's what's getting in my way."

"Sure thing."

Harry gave her a wide grin and shot away, urging every amount of speed and handiness out of the old broom. Nostalgia filled him, oddly, for the grueling quidditch practices that had stolen at a minimum three nights of his week, the days running drills in the dead of winter until it felt as though his fingers were frozen to the handle of his broom. Ginny slammed into him, grabbing the quaffle.

Zipping up past him, she whirled around and tossed it back, "Come on Potter, make it harder for me!"

Harry rolled his eye and resolved to pay more attention to where she was and spend less time reminiscing.

When they landed half an hour later, it was with companionable laughter and dirty faces. Harry's Comet revolted at the overwork he'd demanded of it and dumped him soundly in a puddle. Soaking wet and happier than he'd been in a while, he took Ginny's proffered hand of aid and then followed her back to the broomshed.

" _Tergio"_ Harry pointed his wand at himself as they reached the backdoor and the worst of the mud fell off, " _Torrefacio."_

His clothes were instantly dry.

"If I could just get a little better at actually holding onto the thing maybe…"

Harry put a hand on Ginny's shoulder. Their entire walk back she'd obsessed over her position, her speed, her grip on the quaffle, her position on the broom. It was ridiculous.

"Gin."

His voice stopped in his throat as she looked up at him, but his muteness was short-lived, "You have to stop. You're a beautiful flyer and they have to know that. There is such thing as working too hard at something."

Harry could swear she blushed, but then she took a step back from him.

"Thanks, Harry. I'll keep that in mind." Opening the door she motioned for him, "Shall we?"

The wizarding radio was on, broadcasting quietly in the background as they talked over plans for Ron and Hermione's wedding. Ginny wanted to do something fun for the bachelorette party but she was worried Hermione would be annoyed by anything that wasn't a library. Harry was just planning on taking Ron for drinks for the stag night, but Ginny thought that would be too normal. So they traded ideas back and forth, trying to come up with something truly unique for their friends.

 _Breaking news. This is a first for Wizarding Wireless. It is just past four in the afternoon GMT and we're receiving news now that Muggles have launched an attack on New York City. No news yet on how this will effect MACUSA or if there is a magical component, but early predictions are saying the destruction is of catastrophic proportions._

Harry and Ginny fell silent, listening.

 _Two aeroplanes, Muggle flying machines, have crashed into the World Trade Center towers, as well as a major American intelligence building in Washington, DC. As I have said, there have been no confirmed magical components to this attack. However, let us keep the families of those who have undoubtedly been lost in our thoughts._

Harry rose from the couch.

"Harry?" Ginny reached out to him, catching his wrist.

He turned to her, "They'll be heightening security at the Ministry until they know for certain we aren't in danger here in Britain. They'll call for me any second. I need to get Tom to Andromeda's."

Ginny opened her mouth as if to argue, but then closed it, and followed him to the kitchen.

Tom stood on a stack of newspapers helping Mrs. Weasley roll out a pie crust. Both looked up upon their entrance.

"Molly, Tom and I have to go. Something's happened in America and they're be calling me back to the Ministry any time now."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and lifted Tom down of the chair, "Alright Harry dear. You do your very best to stay safe now."

She ushered all three to the door and then gave him a tight hug, which he returned gladly, "Stay safe. I don't want to hear of any missing toes or ears now."

Harry gave her a small smile and turned to leave. Instead, Ginny pulled him into a tight hug, her face buried in his neck. Surprised, it took him a moment to reciprocate, but then he leaned into her embrace, taking comfort in every short second.

"Be careful, Harry," She begged, her voice barely more than a whisper in his ear.

He drew away from her, "You know I will be. Besides, nothing has happened here. This is just standard Ministry procedure."

Harry scooped Tom up in one arm despite his protests, gave Ginny's hand a squeeze and then walked to the end of the lane beyond the potting shed, where he turned on the spot and vanished.

a/n- Why include 9/11? Well I'm an American, for one thing, so I feel, given that I hadn't given you a definite time and place for some context, although you should be able to figure out base on how old Tom and Teddy are, I felt a real world time and date would be somewhat poignant. Also, it gave me an opportunity to show an interaction between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds and to show that there is an impact on the Wizarding World when something as big as 9/11 happens. I don't intend on doing an more with it other than using it as a historical marker. I feel using it as a source of fiction would be in poor taste.

The scene with Tom really got away from me. I had intended on getting to Ron and Hermione's wedding in this chapter, but alas, I really enjoy what I've come up with for story here so I'm not gonna mess with it too much. And I really felt I had to throw a bit of Harry and Ginny in here as well. I can't just all of a sudden mend fences; that isn't how life works.

Wotcher,

Tabitha


End file.
